


You Might Find You Get What You Need

by Gala_and_Elle, theletterelle



Series: Slantverse [19]
Category: 30 Seconds to Mars, Bandom, The Cab
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - High School, Dom/sub, Haircuts, Humiliation, Knives, M/M, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gala_and_Elle/pseuds/Gala_and_Elle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at how it works in the other group. Alex changes his name, and Jared notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Might Find You Get What You Need

“You’re being stupid,” says Cash. “Dumbass.”

“Fuck you,” says Singer mildly. He pushes his hair out of his eyes and tucks it behind his ear. He takes his American History book out of his locker, frowns at it, puts it back.

“Just tell me why. Why the fuck is this guy so important that you’re willing to change your name just because it might make him like you better?” 

“I told you. Alex Marshall belongs to his brother. If I’m Alex too, it’ll be confusing. And I like Singer. I know you said they meant it to be bitchy, but I like it.”

“You’re going to Bio, dumbass.” Cash pulls Singer’s Bio book out of his locker and puts it in his hands. “Hurry up; bell’s gonna ring soon.”

“I like my name,” says Singer, allowing Cash to hustle him down the hall. “And I like him.”

“Then you’re a dumbass,” Cash grumbles.

-o-

Singer sits through Bio (mitosis), through English Lit (Marlowe), and through Art History (modernists) before his favorite class. Jared is in Geometry, and Singer’s seat is two rows behind, one row over. He spends each class staring at Jared, hoping to make him turn around and see. He never does.

Z does, though. She turns around and eyes Singer in a way he really doesn’t like. She’s so _perfect_ , little and blonde and pretty, with this way of looking down and smiling that he knows must twist every dom up into knots. He’s awkward, all bones and hands and hair. No, he’s not pretty like Z, but he wants what she has. He knows she can tell. She gives him a delicate sneer and turns her back.

The next day, Singer makes Ian, Cash and Johnson sit at the table next to the Letos. Cash bitches the whole time-- “I don’t give a damn about this guy, you know that”-- but he sits and eats and talks to Ian and Johnson about guitar tabs. Johnson’s a drummer, but whatever, at least Cash can entertain himself while Singer stares at Jared, willing him to look back.

He doesn’t know what it is. It’s not like he knows Jared, knows they’d have anything in common or that they’d even get along. It’s just that Jared is fucking magnetic. He’s beautiful, like Shannon but with a softer edge, and one look from those electric blue eyes would be enough to send Singer to the floor. If he could get a look. Just one, that’s all he asks. 

Singer, Shannon had called him, the one time either of the Leto brothers had noticed him. Alex had been trying out some new lyrics for the tune Cash wrote, and he’d just hit the high notes when Shannon and Jared walked by. Alex’s head whipped around as he was closing his locker, and he accidentally slammed it on his hand. “Nice going, Singer,” he heard floating back to him. Admittedly, Shannon had sounded more sarcastic than complimentary, but any attention was better than none. They knew he was alive. He took the name immediately, but it was weeks before he could get anyone to use it. Cash still won’t.

Singer has a plan. Hell, he has nine plans. All of them are stupid, and will get him punched, laughed at, or kicked out of school. He drums his fingers on the table and looks down at his notebook, formulating a new one. He’ll get Johnson to use his name in front of Jared, and that’ll catch his attention, and--

As it turns out, Singer’s plan is moot. Because at the moment he looks back up, Shannon nods at him, and Jared turns and looks.

Jared is looking at him.

Jared is _looking at him_.

Singer’s mouth goes dry, and he grips the edge of the table. It’s all he can do to meet Jared’s eyes, until he realizes he probably shouldn’t and lets his gaze slide down to the table. Jared snaps his fingers. Singer stands up, ignoring Cash’s “Motherfucking idiot,” and Johnson’s giggle. 

“Come here,” says Jared. Singer goes to stand in front of Jared. His breath comes shallow. This is his chance.  
“You’re staring at me,” says Jared. “Why are you staring at me?” Kneeling beside him, Z nibbles on a salad.

“I--” Singer’s thoughts fly out of his head. There’s only one left; it sounds stupid even to himself, but it’s all he’s got. “My name is Singer.”

Jared blinks slowly. “And?”

“What do you _want_?” asks Z, but Jared holds up a hand, and she goes silent.

It’s a question he can answer. “To serve you,” he says to Jared. “Please.”

“I have Z,” says Jared. Z preens. “What would you give me that she won’t?”

Singer doesn’t know what he can say to that but “Whatever you want from me.” Sir is unsaid, but hangs in the air between them.

Jared looks at him for a long second. Singer has to fight with himself not to go to his knees. He tucks his hair behind his ears in a familiar, nervous gesture. And then Jared speaks. “Bring your tray over here.”

Singer falls over his own feet in his haste to obey. Ian gives him a thumbs-up, but Johnson smirks at him, and Cash rolls his eyes so hard he can probably see his own skull. Singer doesn’t care. He’s going to eat with Jared. 

He sets his tray down and pulls out a chair, but Jared kicks it back in. “I didn’t say you could sit down,” he says.

“I--” Is Singer supposed to kneel? He will, of course he will, but he doesn’t have a pad with him, and the tile floor is hard, but if that’s what Jared wants... Singer starts to go down. Jared stops him with a look. “I didn’t tell you to kneel.”

“What, um. What do you want me to do?” Singer’s voice shakes. He can’t get this wrong.

“What I tell you to do,” says Jared, and turns his attention back to his food.

Singer stands there, feeling foolish. He can hear Cash snickering behind him, and he longs to step back there and slap him upside the head, but Jared hasn’t told him to. He stares down at his tray. The food looks like crap, and usually is, but Singer still wants to eat. Jared hasn’t told him to. The thought makes his knees weak. He darts his eyes over to Z, who is pointedly ignoring him in favor of lettuce.

Shannon’s three subs are kneeling in a row by his chair, their food on trays in front of them. Laena gives Singer a tiny smile. He doesn’t acknowledge it, worried that Jared (or worse, Shannon) might notice. He’s teetering on the line here, and he wants to come down on the right side.

When the bell rings, Singer doesn’t move. Z gets Jared’s tray, and Annie and Alex clear away the subs’ things while Laena picks up after Shannon. It’s like a synchronized ballet. There doesn’t seem to be room for him. He tries not to feel disappointed. But while they’re cleaning up, Jared pulls a notebook from his backpack and scribbles out a message. Singer wonders if he’ll be left standing here for the next lunch period as well, if he’ll have to miss his classes until Jared releases him. He’s not left wondering for long. Jared rips the page out and slaps it on the table in front of Singer. “You can go,” he says.

Singer picks up the page and his tray, and walks away. His friends are already gone. He dumps the food, puts the tray on top of the trash can, and only then looks at the note.

_Meet us in the quad after class. Bring the following items: one toothbrush, one small bag of rocks, three apples, and a plastic rat._

Well. It looks like Singer will miss his classes after all. He has scavenging to do.

-o-

Singer sneaks off campus and gets the toothbrush and apples from the convenience store down the block. He cuts down the bag and fills it with gravel from behind the store. He sneaks back to the art room, avoiding the hall monitors, to find the plastic rat. Gerard Way is there, and when Singer tells him what he needs, he practically squeals in joy. “What kind of rat?” he asks. “I have a brown one with glasses, a black one with a scythe, and--”

“Whichever. A plastic one,” says Singer. He wants it all to be exactly right. He has no clue why Jared asked for the things he did, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is obeying, down to the last detail. Gerard gives him the brown rat, and Singer puts it in his backpack with everything else. “Thanks, man,” he says, and Gerard gives him a thumbs up and huge grin in return. As he’s walking away, Singer realizes Gerard never even asked what the rat was for.

Singer makes it to Geometry-- thank fuck, because there’s no way he’s missing Geometry today-- and this time when he sits behind Jared and stares at him, he turns around and looks back, raising his eyebrows. Singer nods. Jared turns around, and Singer lets out the breath he’s been holding. 

-o-

The afternoon is sunny and hot. Singer would be roasting if he were wearing anything heavier than a t-shirt and threadbare jeans, but Jared looks as comfortable as ever in his black leather coat and cowboy boots, Z at his feet. He holds out his hand. Singer digs in his backpack for the items, and gives each one to Jared, who looks at it and tosses it into the trash. Singer mentally apologizes to Gerard for the rat.

“You want to serve me,” says Jared. “You know what that means?” 

Singer licks his lips. “I think so.”

“Tell me,” Jared says, folding his arms.

Singer is cautious. Any wrong word could fuck this up. “I’ll follow you,” he says, “I’ll eat when you say to eat, I’ll go where you say to go, I’ll do what you tell me to do. If there’s something I want to do, I’ll ask your permission. I’ll give you control.” He hopes that’s enough.

Jared tilts his head and looks at Singer with those piercing eyes. “Why?”

The answer is obvious. “Because you’re Jared Leto.”

Z’s lips purse together. Jared doesn’t even glance down. “You finished the first task. You have two more to go. Meet us here tomorrow for your next assignment.”

-o-

Jared hadn’t said what time. Just in case, Singer shows up half an hour early for school, and races to the quad in between each class. He spends his free period sitting by the flagpole, looking up at the sound of each step on the sidewalk.

Jared ignores him entirely during lunch, as does Shannon, as do their subs. Ian gives Singer a concerned look, but Singer shakes his head. “It’s okay.” He won’t jinx it by talking about it.

Cash has no such issues. “Son of a bitch is setting him _tasks_ before he’ll say if Alex is allowed to put his dick under the bastard’s foot. Alex, seriously, if you need a dom that bad I’ll find someone for you. Someone reasonable.”

“Keep your voice down,” hisses Singer. “He’ll hear you.”

“I don’t give a--”

“I don’t want someone reasonable. I want him. And if you can’t deal, seriously, fuck off. You’re my best friend and everything, but you don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t be with.”

Cash puts down his pizza slice and gives Singer a look. “Someone has to. You aren’t exactly the most rational-sounding guy in the room.”

“Oh, _God_.” Singer slams his tray on the table and gets up to leave. “You are such a fuckhead, Colligan.”

“Hey wait,” Ian interrupts. “Singer, come on. Sit down. Cash, shut the fuck up. If it’s going to blow up, fine, whatever, but let him fucking try, all right? You can say I told you so when it all goes to hell.”

“When?” Singer gives him a suspicious look, but sits back down.

“If. Whatever. Oh fuck you, just shut up and eat.” Ian scowls and chomps down on his burger.

The day drags by. Jared doesn’t look at Singer in Geometry, either. Singer is starting to worry. At least yesterday he had an assignment. Today he has nothing but yesterday’s order. When the bell rings, Singer is on his feet and out the door before it stops. He flat-out runs, skidding around the corners, in order to be there before Jared arrives. Singer will prove he’s serious, prove his worth in every aspect. He debates kneeling, then decides against it. He wants to, but he’s not Jared’s yet. If he’s successful, he’ll get to do all the kneeling he wants.

Singer waits, shifting nervously from foot to foot, until he sees Z coming around the corner. Jared’s a couple steps behind her, and with him is Shannon, trailed by his harem. Singer stands still. Jared comes up to him, only a few inches away, and says deliberately, “Strip.”

It’s not allowed. They both know it’s not allowed. There’s no scening on campus, and definitely no nudity. Shannon was sent home last year for leading in a shirtless sub on a leash. Schechter could suspend Singer for this, maybe Jared too. All of this flashes through Singer’s mind as he pulls off his t-shirt, tossing it to the side. He yanks off his shoes, hops on one foot to keep his balance as he pulls off his socks. Undoing his jeans come next, and he’s already thinking about his underwear, his erection, wondering if Jared will stop him, knowing he can’t hesitate or it’s all over. Suspension is a small price to pay. Maybe he’ll just get detention for a month. He can deal with that. Off come his jeans, and without delay he hooks his thumbs into his boxers and sends them down as well.

There’s a crowd now, all eyes on Singer and Jared, and he’s naked, oh God, naked and hard in front of fucking _everyone_. Half the crowd cheers; the other half is either laughing their asses off or shocked beyond belief. Singer blushes so hard it feels like his entire body is about to burst into flame. He stands up straight, facing Jared but not looking in his eyes, waiting for his next instruction.

Jared lets him stand there for a moment that seems like an hour. “Put your clothes back on,” he says finally. Singer does, thankfully before a teacher gets there, and stands before Jared again. Jared just looks at him. And looks. Singer can hardly keep from screaming in suspense. Is this enough? What is?

“What’s your slant?” asks Jared.

Singer has to swallow a couple times before he can respond. “Obedience,” he says. He’d have thought that was obvious.  
Jared nods slowly. “Meet us here tomorrow,” he says. He and his entourage turn and go, leaving Singer standing there alone, embarrassed half to death, and unashamedly relieved.

-o-

“What do you think number three is going to be?” asks Ian.

Singer shakes his head to flip his hair out of his eyes. “I have no idea. I’m not sure what can be harder than yesterday.”  
Cash snickers. Singer punches him in the arm. “Shut up.”

“Maybe he’ll make you go naked to Schechter’s office and beg for detention,” says Johnson. “Since you lucked out yesterday.”

Singer shrugs. “I would. It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

“It would for me,” says Ian.

“You’re a dom,” says Cash dismissively. “No one will ever tell you to do that.”

-o-

Singer stands by the flagpole, surrounded by students who want to see what’s going to happen next. It’s the last time, and if he succeeds, he’s gotten everything he wants. The thought of kneeling in front of Jared makes him dizzy. He clasps his hands behind his back and waits.

Jared leads the group out, walking as if he expected everyone to make way for him. They do. He stops in front of Singer and takes off his sunglasses. Singer meets his gaze, then lowers his eyes. It’s not out of submission this time. Jared looks hungry.

“Today,” says Jared, “you’ll follow us.” He walks past Singer, toward the parking lot. Singer waits for Shannon to pass, for all the other subs, then drops into line. A few others follow, anxious not to miss the show.

Singer beats down apprehension when they lead him through the parking lot and across the street to the diner on the other side. They’re off campus. Anything can happen. They go through the diner, where Jared nods at the manager, who nods in return, and they go out the back, by the garbage bins and the grease recycler. What’s left of the audience, trailing through the diner, has grown quiet. Jared’s group takes up position behind him, and Singer’s left standing alone in the middle of the circle.

Jared steps forward. “Strip,” he says, and it’s not as difficult this time, not without the fear of authority coming down on them. Here, Jared’s the only authority, and if he tells Singer to take off his clothes, well. He will. When he’s naked, cock hard, Jared nods.

“Today,” he says, “you’re going to kneel to me, and beg me to shave your head.”

Singer blanches. 

Sure, it gets in the way; sure, he’s constantly flipping it out of his eyes, but it’s _his hair_. He’s been growing it out for the past year, and he really likes the way it looks. He likes the way it makes him feel like a rock star, which kind of seems dumb, but he does. He’s going to look like a fucking tool with his head shaved, like a skinhead or some military clone. But there’s Jared, right in front of him, and between the two, it’s not a hard decision to make.

Singer kneels, his mouth dry, and tucks his hair behind his ears one last time, aching over its loss. “Please,” he says meekly, “will you shave my head?”

Jared lifts an eyebrow. “That’s begging?”

Singer doesn’t know what to do. He can’t call him “sir,” because that’s reserved for actual subs, people in relationships with their doms. He’s not, yet. Everything has to be correct.

Well, he can’t use “sir,” but he can do other things. He bows his head and bends forward until his forehead touches Jared’s boots. “Please,” he says, loudly enough for his voice to carry. “I am begging you to cut my hair and shave my head. Please.”

“No,” says Jared. Singer looks up. Jared shakes his head. “If you’re not going to do it correctly, you’re not worth my time. Last chance.”

The group mutters. Singer’s desperate. His erection has flagged. He can’t think of what else to do, not with everyone staring at him. Cash’s mockery rings through his head. He’s losing his chance, everything he’s longed for and prayed for and worked for, and the Cash in his mind won’t shut up, yelling _it’s an expression, you dumbfuck, just a figure of speech, you’re not supposed to actually_ do _it_ ,and he--

Leans forward. “May I touch you?” he asks. Jared shifts his weight, like he already knows what Singer plans to do. Singer spreads his knees apart, wraps his hands around Jared’s ankle, and guides the boot to his crotch. He bows his head, takes a deep breath. “Please take my hair. Take whatever you want. Cut it off, shave it off-- it’s yours. Even if you decide I’m not. Please.”

He looks up, and Jared’s eyes pierce him. It seems forever before Jared takes his boot off Singer’s dick, gives a slow nod, and says “Turn around.”

Singer scrambles to obey. There’s a second where nothing happens, and his heart drops, then he hears the snick of scissors opening. Relief crashes into him so hard it brings tears to his eyes. Hair can always grow back, if Jared lets it. And even if he doesn’t, even if he keeps Singer bald forever, it’s worth it.

The scissors sound loud behind him. Hair tumbles past his shoulders into his lap, down his back. It tickles. “Oh my Goooood,” a girl says. He keeps his eyes on the ground, his head bent. When Jared grasps him by the chin, he lets him turn his head. The scissors are even louder next to his ear. Hair tickles it, and he shivers. The hand on his chin tightens. “Don’t move,” says Jared. Singer stills. It’s gone now, going, going, gone. He can only imagine what he looks like. He refuses to let it matter.

His head feels oddly light. Jared runs a hand over what's left of his hair, and Singer can’t help leaning into it. Jared lets him for a moment, before he pushes him away. “Shan?” he asks. 

“Go ahead,” says Shannon.

“Alex,” says Jared, “front and center.” Singer jerks for a second, but Jared’s hand closes on his shoulder and he settles back onto his heels. Not him. His name is Singer.

Alex comes around him and kneels. Jared hands him a case, and Alex opens it. He takes out a thick red leather strap with a handle at the end, and hooks it onto the case. He reaches in again and pulls out something Singer can’t quite see. There’s a muted whisper. Alex unfolds it, and the blade gleams in the afternoon sun.

Singer swallows. He’d hoped for clippers. Looks like he’s doomed to disappointment.

“Z,” says Jared. “Water.”

A moment later, Singer feels a sponge on his head, water trickling down his face and neck. He holds still as Z wets his head down, as Alex strops the razor. It seems like hardly any time at all before Annie’s massaging oil into his head, Alex closes the razor and hands it to Jared, and Jared once again places his hand under Singer’s chin.

“Do not move,” says Jared. “Unless you want me to cut you. But I don’t want to cut you, so don’t move.”

“I won’t,” says Singer. He tenses his entire body as the razor begins to scrape away what’s left of his hair. He wants to shudder, but doesn’t dare. Not with a blade so close to his head, and his orders, and Jared’s express desire not to cut him. Any movement would be disobedience. All of this would be for nothing. 

Jared’s hand moves his head, and though Singer keeps himself still, he luxuriates in the feeling of Jared taking care of him. Paying attention. If Singer obeys, Jared might keep him, and Singer is very, very good at obeying. He doesn’t flinch when the blade nicks his ear, even though Jared hisses “Fuck.” Z’s there, wiping the blood away. He doesn’t jerk when the blade runs over the back of his neck, carving away the tiny hairs there. Even when Jared hands the razor back to Alex to strop it again, Singer doesn’t move.

There’s a sigh as Jared closes the razor. A breeze runs over Singer’s head, and he’s suddenly cold. He’s more naked than he’s ever been before. 

“Stand up,” says Jared, so Singer does. Jared runs a hand over Singer’s smooth head, and this time, Singer can’t restrain his shiver. His scalp is sensitive, and the touch of Jared’s fingers sends his entire body trembling. His nipples are hard. His cock points straight out in front of him. 

“Get dressed,” Jared says. Singer obeys, then takes up the same position with his back to Jared, but Jared grasps his shoulder and turns him around. “Tell me again what you want,” he says.

“I want--” Singer’s voice catches, breaks. “I want to serve you.”

Jared blinks once, slowly. “Is that how you talk to me?”

Singer is confused, until sudden realization breaks over him. “No, sir.”

“I’m going to punish you for that.”

“Yes, sir.” Oh God. Thank you.

“You’ll obey me or Shannon, and when we aren’t around, you’ll obey Z or any of the others. You’re at the bottom of the list; don’t forget that.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Come on.” And with that, Jared heads back into the diner. Singer waits for Shannon, for Z, for Alex and Annie and Laena, and falls into his place behind. Laena reaches behind her for his hand. She squeezes it. He squeezes back, and runs his hand over his head.


End file.
